#tmnt 2014

[chadobi]

I don’t know why, but I’ve always pictured Raphael with an artistic S/O - like, genuinely. And I’ve never seen anyone write a one-shot or fanfic in that style before, so I decided to do it myself, haha!

“Color Me Real”

Bayverse Raphael x Reader

There was a chill in the air tonight. Not the kind that made you shiver, exactly—just enough to bite at your fingers and make you exhale a little slower, like your breath needed time to catch up with your thoughts.

You had the radio playing low, the studio heater on its last leg, and a cup of coffee you’d forgotten about long enough for it to go lukewarm.

Another night, another canvas.

Your hands were already stained in cerulean blue and burnt umber, fingernails crusted with dried paint you hadn’t bothered to scrub out. You stood barefoot on the drop cloth, one brush clenched in your teeth while the other moved in smooth, practiced strokes. You didn’t even notice how your shoulder had started to ache from the angle. The world narrowed until it was just you, the canvas, and the weight in your chest you were trying to turn into color.

That’s how Raphael found you.

Not that you were surprised. He wasn’t exactly stealthy when he didn’t want to be—too heavy, too big. And besides, you knew the way his presence shifted the room before you ever heard a sound. You didn’t turn around right away. Didn’t need to.

“You just gonna hover again or are you gonna come in this time?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then the clink of metal as he stepped through the cracked storage door.

“I ain’t hoverin’,” he said, but his voice lacked any bite. “Just checkin’ in.”

You finally turned, brush still in hand. “Mhm. And how long have you been ‘checkin’ in’ from the shadows?”

He gave you a look, one brow cocked under his red mask. “Long enough.”

You chuckled, stepping aside to make room near the space heater. “Well, grab a crate. Heat’s dying, but it’s doing what it can.”

Raphael hesitated. Then, with a shrug, he lowered himself onto an overturned milk crate. You noticed he looked tired—tension clinging to his shoulders like it always did, but his eyes were softer tonight. More alert.

“Rough patrol?” you asked, dipping your brush back into the palette.

“Not really. Just… noisy. Y’know?”

You nodded. You did.

The city had a way of feeling loud even when it wasn’t. The buzz of lives you couldn’t live, streets you didn’t quite belong to. It wore on you in a way you couldn’t explain, and sometimes it helped to sit in silence next to someone who got it without asking you to explain.

“Paintin’ helps with that?” he asked.

You glanced at the canvas—still unfinished, but it was coming together. It was darker than your usual style. Moody, abstract. Like a cityscape caught in a dream. The brush strokes weren’t perfect. Neither were you.

“It doesn’t fix anything,” you said honestly. “But it’s the only way I can make sense of stuff sometimes.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking over the layers of color. “Looks real good.”

You laughed, a tired sound. “You say that every time.”

“’Cause it’s always true.”

There was no sarcasm, no teasing. Just a simple, matter-of-fact tone that made you go still for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, a little quieter this time.

You didn’t remember exactly when your friendship with Raphael had become a constant. You’d met through April—just another weird night in the city, another impossible story. The turtles had been a curiosity at first. Now they were something else entirely. Family, maybe. Or something close to it.

Still, Raph wasn’t an easy read. He didn’t open up unless he wanted to, and when he did, it was like watching a dam crack one sliver at a time.

He spoke again after a while. “That one from last week—the alley with the steam vents—what was that about?”

You blinked. “You remember that one?”

“’Course I do. It stuck with me. Looked like somethin’ I’ve seen before.”

Your stomach fluttered, unexpectedly.

“I painted that after you told me about your run-in in Hell’s Kitchen,” you admitted.

Raphael looked over sharply. “Seriously?”

You shrugged. “You described the way the steam caught the moonlight. It stayed in my head. So I painted it.”

He was quiet. Then: “Didn’t think you were really listenin’.”

“I always listen to you.”

Another beat of silence.

Something shifted.

His gaze lingered on you, heavy but not unwelcome. He wasn’t looking at your painting anymore. He was looking at you.

You swallowed. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit,” you said gently.

He exhaled through his nose, a rough sound that almost passed for a laugh.

“I dunno,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… you ever look at somethin’ and it hits you, all at once, that it means more than you thought?”

You paused, brush frozen midair.

“Yeah,” you said, heart suddenly thudding in your ears. “All the time.”

His eyes met yours again, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“You’re different,” he said quietly. “Not ‘cause you paint. Not ‘cause you don’t freak out ‘round us. Just… you see things other people don’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not right away. So you looked at your hands—stained with paint and calloused from years of holding brushes too tightly.

“I think maybe you do too,” you said.

The air between you settled, heavy with everything that hadn’t been said before.

Then he stood, slowly. You looked up.

“I should go,” he said. But he didn’t move.

You gave him a tired smile. “Back to the chaos?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

Another pause. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, without warning, reached out and gently touched a smear of paint on your jaw. His thumb brushed your skin, slow and unthinking.

“You got somethin’,” he murmured.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He let his hand fall away, but not before his fingers lingered just a second too long.

Then he nodded once, pulled his hood over his head, and stepped into the night without another word.

You watched him go, heart hammering.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t touch the painting again.

Because the feeling—whatever had passed between you and him—was already finished.

And some things, you realized, were better left in real life than trapped on a canvas.

[stellaspectral]

Now reposted over on AO3! 💙

okay i have a request: bayverse!leonardo x fem!reader. the reader has been friends with the turtles for months and during this time she and leonardo have developed a close relationship thanks to their love of reading and the fact that both of them are calm introverts (the reader is much more sweet and in tune with her emotions tough, bay!leo really needs someone like this imo). now leonardo is realizing that what he thought was just friendship is becoming something more, at least on his part, and he doesn't know what to do about it. obviously his brothers notice this change and their way of helping him is to tease him in front of the reader to force either of them to confess (they secretly been shipping them since the beginning and finally their ship is sailing!).

A/N: Hello, anon! I loved writing the dynamic between Leo and the reader, how they’re a lot alike but she has that emotional intelligence that he often lacks. And the brothers’ teasing “encouragement” to get them together was also a fun element to incorporate, even if it’s rough-going at first 🫢

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Between the Lines (angst/fluff)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Mutual pining, sibling teasing and meddling, brief anger/snapping, emotional vulnerability, confessions, first kiss, happy ending. All characters are aged-up.

The familiar, cool air of the lair wraps around you like a well-loved blanket.

You’re curled up on the worn but comfortable cushions of the couch, a thick hardback open in your lap. Across from you, Leo occupies his usual spot in a patched-up armchair. He’s immersed in an old, slightly battered-looking copy of Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings. He furrows his brow in concentration as he tracks the lines of text.

This is your usual routine, which began not long after you—months ago—literally stumbled into Leo and his brothers’ hidden world. And this comfortable silence you now share has become one of your favorite parts of it. You both found kinship in your introversion. A quiet understanding that doesn’t require constant chatter.

And of course, you’ve bonded over books and love to discuss the stories, the characters, the ideas within them. Sometimes the discussions are deep dives into themes and motivation. Other times they’re just comfortable exchanges about a particularly well-turned phrase or a plot twist neither of you saw coming.

While you’ve grown fond of his brothers’ more eccentric dispositions, Leo’s calm presence is something you enjoy. You appreciate the depth you sense beneath his disciplined exterior, the careful way he observes the world. You, in turn, offer a gentler perspective, a willingness to voice the emotions he usually keeps tightly locked down.

You sometimes catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking—like right now. For a moment, his brow smooths out, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.

Before his gaze snaps back to his book, brow furrowing once again.

A faint warmth spreads through your chest at the intensity you glimpsed, even if it vanished as quickly as it appeared. You keep your eyes dutifully on your page, though the words blur together. You pretend you didn’t notice, respecting the boundary he clearly erected by whipping his gaze back so sharply. And that’s part of the understanding too: knowing when not to push.

You shift slightly on the cushions, the worn fabric sighing softly beneath you. The sound seems amplified in the quiet. You reread the last paragraph on the page, forcing your focus back to the intricate plot unfolding. And for another minute or two, the silence stretches. You find yourself wanting to bridge it. But again, you relent, convincing yourself not to press.

Your cheeks are warm. This isn’t just the comfortable quiet anymore; your skin tingles, and the air feels like it does before a storm. Again, you attempt to focus on the words in front of you, but you can no longer comprehend them. All you can think about is the definite shift you’ve sensed in Leo—and the precarious question mark hanging in the space between you.

Because lately, the way he looks at you—it feels … different.

The words on the page have become meaningless squiggles, drowned out by the roaring silence and the frantic beat of your own heart against your ribs. Just now, you feel that look again. That focused stare. You try to take a slow, steadying breath, but it hitches halfway. Then you risk another look at Leo—

—and this time, he doesn’t look away immediately.

Instead, his eyes meet yours. And for a beat, you swear you feel the air crackle. There’s a tension in his jaw you’ve learned to recognize as him grappling with something internally. He continues to hold your gaze, not looking away. You swallow, rooted to the spot.

Inevitably, something shatters the moment.

“Ooooh, lookie here! Study buddies getting intense?” Mikey’s voice booms as he skateboards into the main room, executing a wobbly turn.

Leo’s posture goes ramrod straight. Every muscle seems to tense. “It’s called reading, Michelangelo.” He speaks in a clipped, overly formal tone—a sure sign of his discomfort.

Donnie wanders in, tapping away at a tablet. Though his eyes flick between you and Leo with keen interest. “Technically, Mikey’s right. Leo’s bio-feedback readings have shown a slight elevation in heart rate and galvanic skin response when you’re in close proximity.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you bookmark the page and close your book. Oh boy, you think as Raph enters the room. Here we go. The peace is officially over.

Raph glances from a now distinctly uncomfortable Leo to you, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Yeah, ‘reading’. Looks more like our fearless leader is trying to figure out how to use his words for something other than barking orders.” He gives Leo a pointed look.

Leo’s shoulders bunch up even further, and he shoots Raph a glare that could curdle milk. “I was contemplating strategy, Raphael. Something you might benefit from trying occasionally, instead of just charging in.” The deflection is immediate, sharp.

You tuck your feet beneath you on the couch, feeling the tension in the room climbing. “He’s right, guys,” you say softly, trying to inject a note of casualness. “We were just enjoying the quiet.”

“Quiet? Dude, the air was buzzing!” Mikey insists, ditching his board and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “Like, zzzzt! Electric eel quiet!” He makes buzzing noises and wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

“My sensors registered a distinct increase in localized atmospheric ions,” Donnie says, “that are consistent with elevated emotional states. Fascinating, really.” He taps his screen again. “Further analysis pending.”

Leo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Donnie,” he grits out.

Raph folds his arms over his plastron, that knowing smirk still firmly in place. “Aw, relax, Leo. Nobody’s judging.” He pauses, letting the implication hang heavy. “Much.” He winks at you, making you blush. “Just sayin’, Leo. Maybe Musashi ain’t the only thing holdin’ your attention these days.”

“Shut up, Raph,” Leo snaps, his gaze darting towards you, checking your reaction.

“Aw, is Leo getting flustered?” Mikey teases, grinning as he looks at you. “You finally break through that super-serious shell of his?”

Heat floods your face, matching the flush you see creeping up Leo’s neck.

You manage a small, slightly shaky laugh. “You guys are relentless,” you say, aiming for amused rather than mortified. You gesture vaguely towards the books resting nearby. “There’s no ‘shell breaking’ going on. We were just reading.”

Leo pushes himself abruptly out of the chair, his movements stiff and jerky. He places The Book of Five Rings down on the armrest with more force than necessary. “Enough, Mikey,” he bites out, his voice low and tight with warning. He refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over Mikey’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tight.

“Actually,” Donnie begins, adjusting his glasses, “the ‘shell’ metaphor is interesting. Because psychologically, prolonged exposure to a non-threatening, emotionally open individual can foster increased vulnerability and trust in subjects typically exhibiting guarded behavior. My preliminary data correlates with a significant decrease in Leo’s baseline stress markers when in your presence, contrasted with—”

Raph snorts, cutting Donnie off. “See? Even Donnie agrees you’re gettin’ soft, Leo.” He grins wider, thoroughly enjoying the leader’s discomfort. “Must be all that … quiet reading.”

“Is Leo gonna start writing poetry now?” Mikey says, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, completely oblivious to Leo’s darkening expression—or perhaps relishing it far too much. “Ooh! Or maybe singing love songs?” He strikes a dramatic pose, hand over his heart.

“That’s enough!” Leo finally snaps. His voice cracks through the room like a whip, sharp enough to make even Mikey flinch back a step.

The playful teasing evaporates instantly. For a fraction of a second, Leo’s furious gaze lands on you. You see a flash of something raw and conflicted—Panic? Frustration? Regret?—before he wrenches his eyes away and pivots on his heel. “I’m going to train.”

Before he can go far, Raph grabs his arm. “Leo, wait. We didn’t mean—”

“Let me go.” Leo shakes off Raph’s hand, his voice low, strained. His gaze flits momentarily back to you, and the raw emotion you glimpsed earlier—that maelstrom of panic and frustration—is starkly visible before he clamps down on it again, hardening his expression.

Raph lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The smirk is long gone, replaced by a frown of genuine concern mixed with self-reproach. “Leo, we’re sorry. Didn’t mean to push ya like that. We got kinda … carried away.” He casts an apologetic glance at you as well.

Mikey looks up, nodding quickly. “Yeah, dude. Sorry. We were just messing around. Because you know, the two of you …” He gestures vaguely between Leo and you, opens his mouth to say something—before wincing slightly, thinking better of finishing that train of thought.

Leo’s about to throw some barbs at his youngest brother when you stand abruptly and go over to him. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to calm him. “They’re just being—”

“Annoying?” Leo bites out. “Intrusive?”

“Accurate,” Donnie supplies, leveling a look directly at Leo.

“Seriously,” Raph says. “We see how you get all quiet and weird—well, quieter and weirder—when she’s around. So just spit it out already.”

He glares at Raph. “There’s nothing to ‘spit out.’ Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to broadcast every fleeting thought or impulse that crashes through my head.” The insult is sharp, aimed squarely at his hot-headed brother.

Mikey winces again, glancing between his two oldest brothers nervously.

Raph raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, easy, Leo. Just sayin’—”

“Saying what, exactly?” Leo cuts him off, his control fraying. “That I enjoy quiet companionship? That I value having someone around who … who understands me?” His eyes flicker briefly, almost involuntarily, towards you again.

Your cheeks grow warm once more. But before Leo can say anything else, you quickly move forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Please, Leo,” you murmur, your voice soft but clear. “It’s okay. Really.”

He freezes at your touch. His muscles remain rigid beneath your hand, taut as bowstrings. But the furious energy seems to stall, caught short by your intervention. He looks down at your hand resting on his arm, his plastron rising and falling with agitated breaths. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to your face.

The anger in his eyes vanishes, momentarily overwhelmed by that conflicted look again. His vulnerability warring fiercely with his ingrained need for composure. And for a fleeting second, he looks utterly lost.

Exposed.

Raph watches the silent exchange between you and Leo, his own expression softening considerably. He nudges Mikey. “C’mon, guys,” Raph says quietly. “Let’s, uh … Let’s give ‘em some space.”

Mikey nods, looking immensely relieved to escape the line of fire. “Yeah! Space! Totally! Good idea, Raph!” He backs away towards the tunnels.

Donnie again looks between the two of you, before following Mikey out of the lair. Raph joins them soon after, leaving the room to fall quiet again.

It’s heavy, thick with everything that was just said.

And everything that wasn’t.

Leo hasn’t moved. He’s still looking at you, your hand still resting on his arm. The tension hasn’t fully left him, but the volatile anger has receded. Slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his own for a second—before pulling away. It’s not a rejection so much as a gathering of courage.

He turns away slightly, running a hand over his face, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I … apologize,” he says, the word strained. “For their behavior. And … for my reaction. It was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Brothers tease. It happens.”

He shakes his head. He still won’t look directly at you, focusing instead on the worn pattern of the rug. “No. It’s not just teasing.” He pauses, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. “They weren’t entirely … wrong.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wait, hardly daring to breathe, as he visibly struggles with himself. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. He takes a deep, unsteady breath, the kind you’ve seen him take before facing a daunting opponent.

Finally, he turns back to face you. His eyes meet yours, and the turbulent emotions beneath shatter his usual discipline. The raw vulnerability you glimpsed earlier is fully present now, unguarded and intense.

“Donnie’s observations,” he begins, his voice rough, stumbling slightly over the words. “And Raph’s … accusations.” He swallows hard, his gaze unwavering now, locked onto yours. “While crudely delivered, they hold a measure of truth.”

He takes another breath, forcing the next words out. “My focus—it has been compromised lately. When you are here.” He gestures vaguely towards the couch, towards the shared space, towards you. “This quiet companionship, as I called it. It’s become … significant. To me.”

He pauses again, the silence stretching, amplifying the frantic beat of your own heart. You can see the effort it’s costing him, the sheer force of will required to push past years of ingrained stoicism and emotional suppression.

“I find your presence centering,” he continues, the formality of his words contrasting with the emotion in his eyes. “And distracting. Simultaneously.” A faint, self-deprecating grimace touches his lips before vanishing. “My thoughts deviate from strategy. My focus … shifts.”

He looks down briefly, then meets your gaze again, his own filled with a hesitant, almost uncertain intensity. “What I mean to say,” he finally manages, the words quiet but clear in the heavy silence, “is that my feelings for you extend beyond friendship.”

He doesn’t say more. He simply stands there, stiff as a board, his jaw clenched. As if preparing for a blow after having laid his carefully guarded heart bare. His eyes, usually so calm and assessing, are wide, searching yours, filled with a potent mixture of apprehension and hope.

You can only stare, the echo of Leo’s words reverberating in the space between you. It’s the confirmation of the subtle shift you’d sensed, the answer to the unspoken question that had been tightening your own chest for weeks. But hearing it spoken aloud by him causes a warmth to bloom inside you, chasing away the anxiety that has plagued you for so long.

You see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his hands are still loosely fisted at his sides as if he’s bracing for rejection. For the possibility that he’d misread everything, that he’d shattered the comfortable dynamic you share for nothing. You take a hesitant step closer, closing the small distance between you.

Shoving down your own introverted caution. Because he deserves the same honesty he just offered you.

“Leo,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

You lift a hand, not quite touching him yet, letting it hover in the charged air between you. “That quiet companionship …” you begin, echoing his earlier words, your voice gaining a little strength. “It’s … significant for me, too.”

Relief flashes across his face, but he remains still. Waiting.

“I thought … I thought maybe I was imagining things,” you admit, a wobbly laugh escaping you. “The way you looked at me sometimes. The way it felt just sitting here. Reading.” You finally meet his gaze fully, letting him see the emotion swimming in your own eyes. “It wasn’t just comfortable silence anymore, was it?”

He shakes his head mutely, his throat working as he swallows.

“My focus hasn’t exactly been stellar either,” you confess, a small smile touching your lips. “These last few weeks, maybe longer. Trying to read when all I can really think about is …” You trail off, suddenly finding it hard to say the words, your own vulnerability rising to the surface.

You take another step, finally closing the gap. Your hand finds his arm again, resting gently on firm muscle. This time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his own hand covers yours almost instantly, his grip surprisingly gentle but firm, anchoring you.

“Leo,” you say again, your voice steadier now. “My feelings for you … they extend beyond friendship, too.” You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush of relieved honesty. “A lot further. I …” You swallow. “I love you.”

The admission hangs in the air, raw and true.

For a heartbeat, Leo just stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to absorb the reality of your words. Then, the tension visibly drains out of him. His shoulders slump in relief, his posture relaxing. His grip on your hand tightens possessively. A slow, tentative smile—one that reaches his eyes—transforms his face, erasing the lines of worry.

It makes your heart do a ridiculous flip.

“You …” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, almost rough. He clears his throat. “You do?”

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, your smile mirroring his. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness, but from overwhelming relief and happiness.

He raises his other hand, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. He seems momentarily lost for words, the disciplined leader grappling with an emotion far more complex than any battle strategy.

“I …” He shakes his head slightly, that small smile lingering. “I hoped. But I wasn’t sure.” He leans closer, gently cupping your face. “I love you too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

The world seems to narrow down to just the two of you. Leo’s thumb strokes gently over the back of your hand. His other hand remains cupped against your face, his touch feather-light but possessive. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. You give the slightest nod, a silent permission that sends another wave of warmth flooding through you.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away, true to his nature. But you don’t move. You meet him halfway, rising on your toes. The space between you disappears. His lips meet yours, tentative at first. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a hesitant tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

You sigh softly into the kiss, your free hand coming up to rest against his plastron, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. It’s racing almost as fast as your own. He deepens the kiss slightly, his hand tightening its hold on yours. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of yourself you hadn’t realized was missing.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes remain closed for a moment, as if savoring the connection. You keep yours shut for a few moments, too.

“Wow,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering open.

An unguarded smile touches his lips again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Wow.” He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

He takes your other hand, holding both securely in his grasp. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his expression serene, resolute. The vulnerability is still there, but tempered now with confidence, with the quiet joy of reciprocated feeling.

“So,” he says after a few moments, a hint of his usual pragmatic nature returning, though softened around the edges. “Reading might be … slightly more challenging from now on.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and happy. “Might be,” you agree. “But I think … I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiles—a proper, heart-stopping smile that lights up his face. He leans down and presses a brief, sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your respective stories have taken a turn neither of you fully anticipated. But it is a chapter you were both eager to finally write.

Together.

[oozedninjas]

Spring fleeting

A/N: Fucking rude of me not to have fed my pretty girlies in this much while. In compensation, I offer you: a mating season special!!! You can shoot in a prompt and I'll turn it into a short smut ;) ily!!

Warnings: 18+ / MDNI / Smut / NSFW / edging, orgasm denial, dom!turtles, oral sex / General verses / Mutant guys are 25-29 y/o and they're suffering from spring heat!

Leo doesn't want to breathe because if he does he might get carried away by your scent. He watches from a safe distance never leaving sight of your neck and shoulders. Fuck, he wants to bite them, suck on them, lick a stripe over your pulse line that would cut your breath sharply. Shit, he wants you to hold from the upper end of his shell, begging. Before he registers he's calling your name. Let him lure you elsewhere, yeah?

Raph loves fucking you stupid. Your eyes closed and gaped mouth have him on the verge of coming. Words scarcely coherent enough to moan for more. He's balls deep in you, aching to fill you up once more. But Raph edges himself, just for the bliss of numbing everything away with each crashing orgasm. 

He trembles inside you, cum dripping from your abused cunt as he thrusts. Fuck you love him, you're crazy about him, and he just grins, amused at your stupid failed attempts to communicate it.

Donatello's knowledge of each sensitive part in your body borders on mean when he uses it like this. From your neck to your back, to your lower half. He's held you still for what feels like ages, nibbling, marking, and kissing the bruise after. But none of what he's done equals the cruel way he's sucking your clit: just enough to make your back arch, but never quite granting release. 

Begging wouldn't suffice, it wasn't about that. It was about him showing you how fucking good he could make you feel if you let him, how hard you could come just by his expert tongue. And shit, who are you kidding? You fucking adore it.

Mikey loves how hot you look riding his cock. He's got the best of views! Everything in you is perfect. He reaches up, palming every bit of skin he can get his hands on, squeezing, pinching, scratching. He loves it when his touch makes you weak enough to lose the rhythm, seemingly tumbling over his plastron, finally giving out. 

He's softer when he's had enough, and brings your mouth to his gently, big hands covering your back, pushing you down to his chest before he thrusts up. He reaches that sweet spot so easily like this, and your clit rubs so deliciously over the lower part of his plastron. Come on, don't hold back, you don't gotta do nothing, just relax.

[raisin-shell]

19 seconds of the brothers slapping Leo and being smart asses with each other.

[sweeneydino]

Dumdums

More redraws!

If you want me to redraw a scene with these designs just send it in asks or tag me and ill do it…some time…

They are pretty fun

[livltmntl]

THEY GLOW THEY GLOW IN THE FUCKING DARK

[mishka-o]

Some silly sketches with my self insert <3🧡

(Raph would def use you as a spare weight)

[hotheadedhero]

*peeks in here*

*walks away to check if you do bayverse*

*return*

The bay bois getting an s/o who will occasionally will randomly be cuddling and then... *Affectionate bite* then letting go and telling them they love them.

AN: As an affectionate biter myself, I gotcha babes ;)

Affectionate Biting

Bay Turtles x Reader

Warnings: very mildly suggestive, an insomniac trying to grammar <3

Leonardo

The first time you oh-so casually bit him and smiled afterwards as if it was nothing had him going for a spin. Confused is the prominent word to describe how he was feeling at the time. The action was just so unprompted. He couldn't figure out why you felt the need to do something like that, nor how it could be seen as an act of love.

He's learnt over time that it's an unavoidable urge for you. There's nothing you can do about it. You just have to bite him for whatever reason you deem necessary. Leo is all too aware of this by now and may or may not use it to his advantage.

"For every hour we're out tonight, I'll give you a free bite. No questions asked, okay?"

These are terms you can comply with. He knows how much you miss him when he's gone, so setting up this ultimatum is an effective way of letting him go on patrol more easily.

Raphael

Being with you has involved its fair share of revelations and discoveries. There's at least a handful of things he's become savvy to whilst being with you but the random biting is one of the more bizarre ones.

Actions speak louder than words and they always mean the most to him but biting? What's up with that? Humans are weird. That's the conclusion he's come to. Even now in this very moment, you've taken a hold of his wrist whilst curled up in bed together.

"What are you, a cat or something? Quit it."

Of course, he's only joking. It's just so he can see your tongue poke out and your nose scrunch up in the cute way he likes. Even if he did seriously mean for you to stop, he doubts you would. You live by your own rules when it comes to these things. And, sure, you can bite him if you like. Just as long as you expect to get bitten back.

Donatello

It may catch him by surprise from time to time but only because you do it in the most random of situations. Whilst he's working away and you're sitting in his lap, you'll just latch onto the closest part of him you can access. He might jump if he's in the zone but it's never an issue.

Regardless of it being a problem or not, you've had your own curiosities about why you have such a primal impulse to chomp down on your boyfriend. Luckily, Donnie being as knowledgeable as ever has the answers.

"... the desire to pseudo-bite or squeeze anything we find extremely cute is actually a neurochemical reaction. 'Cute aggression' isn't motivated by vicious intent. Instead, scientists think-"

He halts on his words, blinks out of his matter-of-fact mode, and gazes down at you. All the while, you have his forearm locked between your teeth. Your attempt to smile coyly against his skin is adorable, and he smiles back before continuing his explanation.

Michelangelo

He won't ask any questions. In all honesty, he loves it. Although, there might have been a bit of a misunderstanding the first couple of times you went to take a nip at him. Let's just say he thought you were trying to get him in the mood. Can't blame a guy for assuming his lover is a little freaky in the sheets.

Having such a strong force overcome you is something he understands, though. It's like him when it comes to pulling a fast one over his brothers. You can bite him whenever you want to if that's what you feel you need to do. Even if you turned into a zombie, he'd still let you.

"And then we could be like, zombie lovers roaming the streets together."

Mikey holds his arms out, hands dangling as he playfully groans like the undead. You aren't entirely sure how the conversation developed like that but it's cute nonetheless. Hey, he's just being honest. He loves you that much.

[xartisticmdx]

So does anyone still like the Bayverse Ninja Turtles?

Hot take: I actually enjoy the Bayverse Ninja Turtles. Ever since it came out of course. And I always wanted to make Bayverse versions of my tmnt ocs. I love it to death.

[mushroomgrenade]

Nobody asked but Im delivering.

I dusted off my red bubble and uploaded almost 100 new designs for you turtle people. Grab them here!

And as a reminder, sticker sheets are always still available, grab them here!

⭐Please help reblog! Theyre super helpful and I appreciate it!⭐

[stellaspectral]

I'm gonna come in anonymously eith a bayverse request and ask if maybe you'd be willing to do something where April has this very dorky, emotional, and sweet friend that doesn't know about the turtles. And one day she's supposed to be gone for the night on a date, so the guy's come to hang out and just as Donnie goes to throw his shoes by the door he runs chest to nose with her? Turns out her date was awful, she's giving up on dating, being dramatic about going into a convent. And now there's these guys in her's and April's apartment, and oh god the Purple one is cute, and they have matching glasses- maybe she won't give up entirely!

If this isn't up your ally that's fine! I've really been enjoying your stuff though!

A/N: Ohmigosh, this is such a cute request! 😍

I set this roughly between the first and second movies, since the turtles’ existence is common knowledge to the public by the time Out of the Shadows is over. Enjoy! 💖

Shell Shocked and Smitten (fluff)

💜 Bayverse Donatello/Female Reader 💜

CWs: Bad date aftermath, mild angst, fluff, brief emotional upset, some swearing, unexpected guests, dorks with crushes who flirt, light brotherly teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You trudge up the stairs to your shared apartment.

Your date had been, to put it mildly, a dumpster fire. Chad (of course his name is Chad!) spent an hour talking about his cutting-edge crypto portfolio, then his CrossFit routine. And finally, when the bill arrived, he’d patted his pockets with performative dismay, claiming he forgot his wallet. So you were stuck paying an amount you couldn’t afford.

And on top of it all, you lost one of your contacts in the taxi on the way home. Thankfully, you had your glasses in your purse. But your eyes had watered. And the cheap drugstore mascara—the one you bought on a whim because the packaging was sparkly—is definitely running.

You arrive at the door and fish your keys out from your coat pocket. “Never again,” you say out loud, fumbling with the stubborn lock. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m officially retiring from the dating scene. Maybe I’ll join a convent. Do they still have those?”

You finally win your fight with the door, shoving it open with more force than necessary, the strap of your purse digging into your shoulder. You’re already picturing yourself face-planting onto the couch and eating ice cream as you walk partially through the entryway and further into the apartment. “April, you’re not gonna BELIEVE the total unmitigated disaster that was—”

You don’t even get the full sentence out.

Because your dramatic pronouncement is cut short when you barrel right into a solid wall of … something. Your nose is pressed against a hard, subtly ridged surface. You tilt your head back, and your gaze travels up, up, up to a face that’s, well … green. And reptilian.

He’s currently looking down at you with wide, intelligent hazel eyes behind a pair of very familiar-looking glasses. In his hands, he has what one can only describe as an enormous pair of custom shoes. Looking like he was just going to toss them by the door, you realize dimly, like any normal person. Except he isn’t just any normal person.

“W-what …? Who …?” you stammer as you take a step backward, staring at the shoes before your gaze snaps back up to the towering green man in front of you.

His massive, three-fingered hand is still outstretched, holding the shoes. He’s wearing, well, not much. Aside from a purple bandanna tied around his head and pants with suspenders over his broad back. Wait, you think, squinting at him—before realizing that isn’t his back so much as it is a shell.

“Uh,” he says, hesitant, seeming just as startled by your sudden appearance as you are by his.

It takes a moment to click once you, again, look at the glasses perched on his snout. His reptilian snout. Your brain, already overloaded from your terrible date night, attempts to reboot before it short-circuits. Giant. Green. Person. A turtle? In your apartment. Holding shoes.

Your thoughts grind to a halt after stuttering, unable to process what the hell you’re seeing.

“You’re home early,” April says, appearing from the living room, a nervous smile plastered on her face.

Purple Bandanna looks like a deer caught in headlights. Behind him and April, you register other large, green men. Each of them are wearing different colored bandannas. The one in red, arms crossed, is radiating ‘are you kidding me?’ energy. Orange is practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, while the one in blue sighs and shakes his head.

“Early?” you echo, your voice a squeak. Your gaze flits from April’s strained smile to the towering, purple-clad turtle, then to the other three equally impossible beings. “April, there are giant, sentient turtles in our living room!”

The one in orange finally loses his battle and bursts into a snorting laugh, which is quickly stifled by an elbow from the blue one. The red one rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck.

“And if you must know,” you continue, the sheer weirdness of the situation temporarily bulldozed by your need to vent, “I’m home because my date was a catastrophic failure of epic proportions. He mansplained the blockchain to me. The blockchain, April. What the hell is a blockchain, anyway?!” You gesture wildly with one hand, knowing you look like a crazy raccoon who’s lost a bar fight.

Purple guy blinks. The blue one takes a hesitant step forward. The red one actually snorts.

“A convent, huh?” Red says, a smirk playing on his lips. “Dramatic much?”

You realize he heard you talking to yourself outside the apartment, and you blush in embarrassment. “It’s a valid life choice!” you retort, though your voice breaks a little. Then, the full weight of the situation crashes back down. “Wait a minute. Who are you guys? And why do you look like … very large anthropomorphic turtles?”

The purple one pushes his glasses up his nose. Again, you notice how his frames match yours. “It’s a … rather convoluted narrative,” he says, his voice still calm, though he shifts his weight again. “We’re friends of April. She lets us hang out here sometimes when … well, when you’re out.”

“Friends she has never, ever, not once in the history of our friendship, mentioned,” you counter, narrowing your mascara-smudged eyes at April, who winces and mumbles a ‘sorry.’

Your gaze, however, can’t help but drift back to the purple-clad turtle. Again, he pushes his glasses further up his nose. There’s a faint flush of a darker green spreading under his skin that you suspect might be the reptilian equivalent of a blush. It’s unexpectedly endearing.

Maybe it’s the way his intelligent hazel eyes, magnified slightly by the lenses, look apologetic and gentle. Or perhaps it’s the novelty of someone so otherworldly looking at you with an expression that isn’t pity, or worse, the glazed-over boredom Chad had projected. He also seems genuinely concerned about your disastrous date, even though you’ve just barged in on whatever secret turtle-hangout was happening.

“Well,” you say, your voice a little shaky but losing some of its earlier despairing edge. “This is certainly a development. April is friends with tall, apparently very polite turtles who have excellent taste in eyewear.” You glance pointedly at Purple’s glasses, then touch your own.

You’ve always had a ridiculous soft spot for guys in glasses. It’s your kryptonite, second only to a well-curated bookshelf.

A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “Donatello,” he offers, finally lowering the hand still holding his footwear. “But, uh, Donnie is fine.”

“Donnie,” you repeat, testing the name. It suits him. The blush on his cheeks seems to deepen a fraction.

“Look, I was going to tell you,” April says truthfully. “Eventually. It’s just … a lot.”

“Understatement of the year, April,” you mutter, but your eyes are drawn back to Donnie. He’s set his shoes down now, his posture a little less like a startled woodland creature and more relaxed. He steals another glimpse of you, and there’s a definite spark of interest there in his gaze.

A tiny thrill zips through you. Dating humans hasn’t exactly panned out. It’s been a veritable parade of Chads, Brendans, and a Kevin who thought taxidermy was an appropriate first-date conversation topic. But perhaps the universe has always had other options for you in mind.

“So,” you say, taking a deep breath and trying to gather the scattered remnants of your composure. “Donnie. And, uh …” You gesture vaguely at the other three, who are watching with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation.

“Leonardo, but Leo’s good,” Blue says with a polite nod.

“Raphael. Raph,” the red one grunts, still leaning against the doorframe, though his arms are no longer crossed.

“And I’m Michelangelo! Mikey for short!” Orange says. “We’re brothers, by the way.”

“Right,” you say. “Leo, Raph, Mikey. And Donnie.” You look at Donnie again, and he offers another one of those small, shy smiles that does strange things to your insides.

“So, about that blockchain,” Donnie begins, then seems to catch himself, a flicker of self-consciousness in his eyes. “I mean, if you’re still curious. It’s essentially a decentralized, distributed ledger, which can be quite fascinating from a cryptographic and data structure perspective, though I can see how it might not be an optimal first-date conversation.”

You can’t help it; a laugh escapes you. A real one, not the polite, strained kind you fake with most of your dates. “You know, that’s actually the most sense anyone’s made of it all night.”

Donnie’s blush deepens again, and this time, there’s definitely a pleased glint in his eyes. April lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like relief. Even Raph cracks a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

“So,” you say, feeling a bit more like yourself now, “do you guys hang out here often?”

“We try not to impose,” Leo replies. “But April’s hospitality is generous.”

“Generous enough to harbor four secret turtles,” you muse, then look at April. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

She throws her hands up in mock surrender. “What can I say? They’re good company. Mostly.” She shoots a pointed look at Raph, who just shrugs.

Donnie clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. He’s fidgeting with the strap of some kind of tech-y satchel you hadn’t noticed before, slung across his shell. “Actually,” he says, “we were just about to order pizza. If … if you’re not too traumatized by your recent culinary experience to partake?”

Pizza. The universal comfort food. The thought of sharing it with Donnie and his equally extraordinary brothers suddenly sounds infinitely more appealing than a solitary tub of ice cream and a vow of celibacy.

“Traumatized? Donnie, I think tonight significantly recalibrated my trauma threshold.” You shoot him a smile. “And pizza sounds amazing. Especially if its intricacies are not explained via a PowerPoint on its market liquidity.” You still can’t believe one of your dates actually brought a laptop with him to show you a damn PowerPoint, of all things.

Sometimes, you still think romance is dead.

Donnie laughs, a full, rumbling sound that vibrates pleasantly in the entryway. “No PowerPoints, I promise. Though I do have some interesting data on optimal cheese-to-sauce ratios, if you’re interested.”

“Save it for the second date, Don,” Raph calls out, earning a frown from Donnie and a snicker from Mikey.

Your cheeks flush again. It’s a pleasant sensation this time, a far cry from the humiliated heat brought on by Chad’s cheapness or your own dramatic pronouncements outside the door. “I think I could handle some data on cheese-to-sauce ratios,” you say, your voice a little breathless.

Mikey whoops. “Alright! Pizza party! I call dibs on the first slice with extra pepperoni!”

April, looking significantly less stressed now that the initial shock has worn off, claps her hands together. “Okay, then! Pizza it is. My treat. Consider it an apology for the delayed introductions. And for all the Chads.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the evening’s tension drain away, which is replaced by an almost giddy sense of excitement. Giving up on dating? You must have gone temporarily insane. Again, you look at Donnie.

No way you’re giving up now.

Especially if it involves matching glasses and a brilliant, kind-eyed turtle.

[oozedninjas]

Any Leo fucking you when he's needy honestly

Warnings: 18+ / MDNI / NSFW / Smutish / Leo is late 20's to early 30's / general verses

Needy!Leo loves it when you breathe into his mouth, panting as he thrusts into you at just the right pace. Fuck, he missed you so much.

Needy!Leo loves it when you close your legs around his head when he goes down on you—losing his mind when you tug the banana, rubbing yourself to his face desperate to reach your peak. So fucking delicious, he drinks it all down.

Needy!Leo is crazy about your moans, he adores hearing how good he makes you feel.

Needy!Leo loves holding you so close to his plastron you can barely breathe, but god, your clit feels amazing grinding against his lower belly, that you almost don't care.

Needy!Leo stays inside after he's fucked his cum deep in your real good, slowly catching his breath as he holds you close. You're good for him, so soft and warm—what do you mean you can't breathe? This is no time for air, it's time for cuddles.

[theturtlelovers]

Raph is the kind of turtle who tenderly brushes your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear and kissing your temple, all while he's pistoning into you with such intensity that your cries of pleasure are unavoidable.

[raisin-shell]

Maybe… just maybe we all grew out of a phase. I won’t say grow up because it was never about being grown. It was about escape. What, where, why we were escaping was irrelevant. Whatever that phase was…. Holy fuck it was good. I know the Bayverse fandom is very slim and it literally hurts to watch it crumble but I was one of the fortunate ones who got to see it in the height of its glory days. To my Bayverse peeps, I love you all so very much.

[tmntaucompetition]

One and all from across TMNT Tumblr, I present to you….

THE TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES ALTERNATE UNIVERSES COMPETITION! (2025!)

This competition will throw hands with ANY tmnt iteration AU, and I mean ANY! 2012, 2003, Rise, WHATEVER! THEY COUNT! Crossovers are counted as well (i.e Ghost in the Shell and Two Souls)!

Submissions are open and will be open for a week or two at most! Submit YOUR blorbos today to see them win the ultimate honor!

BUT you may ask, “WHAT’S THIS YEAR’S THEME?”

GENRES OF FANTASY!

FOUR ROUNDS

ROUND 1: High Fantasy - Your classic go-to when you think of fantasy! Dragons, knights, kings and queens, adventures!

ROUND 2: Fairy Tales - Your bedtime stories as a child! Mary had a Little Lamb, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, the Pied Piper, Puss in Boots…so many to choose!

ROUND 3: Magical Girl/Boy/GN - (THIS COUNTS AS FANTASY) ANIME! Full anime mode vibe, harness the powers of…whatever and defeat your evil foes with cool transformations and awesome style!

ROUND 4: ITS A SURPRISSSSSE :)

RULES

IMPORTANT: If the au revolves around dark/heavy topics and themes, please list those in the form.

Be kind to one another! Don’t harass anyone over this fun little competition.

Don’t flood creators inboxes! Especially if they don’t want to be apart of this competition!

All in all, be respectful. Please 😭

Any questions can be asked via inbox!

This years competition will revolve around the top 32 AUS submitted, and will have single elimination.

HAVE FUN EVERYONE!

Official discord server: https://discord.gg/zUvEEJAj66

[sweeneydino]

Dums pt.2

Don’t think about it.

…they look like squash-